Hole in the Ground
by ProserpinaSnape
Summary: *[COMPLETE]* Rated for language, Ok guys, It has been seven years since graduation and Helga is successful and independent, but once she knocks over a strange man on the street one day her life will never be the same again!! Dum, Dum Dummmm!!
1. The People Ride in a Hole in the Ground

  
  
~* Okay, this is a different format than what some of you might have read. When I first uploaded, I accidentally did the first three chapters all as one…so if any of you have already read past this first chapter then you've already read the first three. Sorry, but after that little problem they were having, I couldn't get on to fix the chapters, so please just bear with me!!!  
-- I also realised that I didn't put a disclaimer in that first upload (sorry it's my first time), but trust me, I don't own anything except a whole load of books in my room.  
-- I hope you all enjoy the story. Please R&R. Thanx a bunch!!  
  
  
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett and Nick.   
  


* * *

  
  
**Chapter 1  
The People Ride in a Hole in the Ground**  
  


It was fifty fucking degrees outside above ground, yet it was still like a sweltering locker room in the subway cars below the city. _You would think that after running these things for countless decades, they would be a little better able to control the temperature settings!_ Sure I want to be warm, but not roasted. Helga sighed half-heatedly as the train whirred through the dark tunnels below Manhattan's busy streets. Christmas was always the worst time of year in the city. It seemed like every damn tourist in the country got the bright idea to come and see New York City decked out in holiday cheer._ Holiday cheer_, "Ha!" she unintentionally scoffed out loud, earning her more than a few stares from the tourists and unaffected complacency from the patrons. The train came to an abrupt stop and Helga realized, almost too late, that this was her cue to leave. So with a little wave and salute to her fellow passengers, Helga exited the steel tube and made her way swiftly up the stairs. 

The weather was cold, too cold to be out making trips to the caverns of the Lower-Manhattan Financial District where the wind whipped through the gaping trenches, known to others as streets, and made a seemingly mild fifty-degree day into Arctic Hell. Double wrapping her long purple scarf, Helga had managed to cover up most of her face against the biting wind; her body, though, was protected only by a light pea coat that had seemed far more appropriate outside her apartment on 5th Avenue overlooking Central Park. The gusts came fiercely as Helga practically sprinted down the sidewalk; mind focused only on the warm relief she would find upon entering the centrally heated lobby of the Samson Publishing House office. Absentmindedly she bumped into a few noble workaholics braving the winter's day for the sake of "the firm", but it wasn't until she plowed recklessly into a large bundle of coats moving in the same direction she was, that Helga found herself in the company of the worst thing that can be added to a freezing-cold day—pain. Her wrists were soar and she had scraped up the palm of her left hand pretty well, but besides that there didn't seem to be anything she couldn't handle. The man (or woman—there were so many layers of clothing surrounding him that it was hard to discern any rational figure) was still lying on the ground, apparently he had gotten the worst of the two. Helga picked herself up and wiped the blood off her hands before she walked over to the man on the sidewalk—_God all I need is for this to be some old man who will now take it upon himself to sue me for breaking his 12th hip_—and reached down to help him up. The man gratefully accepted her offer at some help and grasped her bare hands in his woolen-coated ones. He wasn't old. Even through the gloves Helga could feel how strong and powerful his hands were as he grasped tightly at her own. 

Once standing upright the man patted some clinging bits of gravel off his outer coat and then moved his scarves (Yes, there were more than one!) out of his face so he could get a clear, unobstructed view of the girl who both knocked him over and helped him up. 

"Thanks for the help up, I'm afraid that all these layers make it a little difficult to maneuovre in any sort of graceful manner." The man chuckled lightly as he pointed playfully at his bulging body. Helga was awestruck. She had never dreamed that in a million years she would come across a person in New York City that, upon being properly bowled over, wouldn't get up and pull a gun on the offending individual—let alone mutter a phrase of gratitude. 

Her expression must have been clearly visible for the man then inquired as to her own health; Helga didn't know what to do except stare dumbly at the poor man who, now visibly uncomfortable under her intense gaze, began to fiddle with his coat again. Helga watched him fidget and was suddenly struck with a touch of familiarity. At first she couldn't place it and brushed it off as something ephemeral seeing as though he was too well covered for it to be anything relating to his physical appearance. However, upon closer inspection Helga discovered it—his eyes. His eyes were an intoxicating mixture of blue-green that reminded her of a picture she had once seen of the waters of the Caribbean. She shook her head in a desperate attempt to tear her eyes out of his until she at last realized what a fool she must appear.

"I...I'm sorry what did you say?" she asked wearily, careful to avoid his face.  
  
"I asked if you were all right." he replied in a manner that continued to be concerned, despite her recent display of muteness.  
  


"Oh me? I'm fine. I've certainly been in worst predicaments; although, I do apologize for practically killing you, but I was in a hurry to get to the warmth of work—I'm afraid that I can be terribly clumsy when I'm in a self-indulgent mode." With this Helga made a sudden jerk of her left hand which caused burning pain to shoot up through her arm from the cuts and, what felt like, her wrist. "Shit!" she breathed audibly enough for the stranger to hear and then turn his attention to her hand. 

"Oh Gods, your hand!" The man pulled off his gloves and then reached out to take Helga's hand into his. She looked down at the powerful hands previously hidden by the mittens, in the palm of his right hand Helga could see a large scar, diagonal from the base of his index finger to the heel. _ Camping...river...rocks_. Helga shook her head again to clear the foreign thoughts as the feeling of the stranger's warm skin caressing her own invaded her senses. Then it hit her, all at once-she was standing in the middle of the sidewalk on Wall Street while a complete stranger from God-knows-where was toughing his bare hands against her bloodied one. 

She roughly pulled away from the stranger and threw him a disgusted scowl.   
  
"I don't recall telling you that you could touch me!" She stared up into his face forcefully as he recoiled his hands back towards his body and replaced the mittens on them. He looked offended, hurt even.  
  
"I...I'm...Well, I'm just sorry," he fumbled loosely, "but I was only trying to..."  
  


"Trying to what?" Helga cut in abruptly, her voice trembling with an unintentional rage. "Trying to infect me with AIDS, or God-knows-what-else that you might be carrying and distributing into my blood!" The last sentence, more of a statement than a question, was spat against the wind as Helga turned heel and continued her sprint to the office building three blocks away. The stranger stood rooted to the spot for only a minute or two watching the girl run ardently, seeing the white puffs of hot breath emanating from her and dissolving into the pale skies above. He watched her until she disappeared around a corner off in the distance and then, only then, did he allow a bemused smile to penetrate his previously stoic features. 

He resumed his walk.  
  
  


* * *

  
~*So Helga went a little crazy, but, hey, this is New York she's been living in. I'm going to try not an treat you all like infants because we all know who the 'mysterious man' she just ran into probably is. Perhaps if I was more creative I would make him out to be a new character who she falls madly in love with, but that will never happen and I'm sure we'll see more of him in the future.  
  
Thanks again. 


	2. Vegetarian Meat-eaters and 'The Man'

  
  
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett.   
  


* * *

  
  
**Chapter 2  
Vegetarian Meat-eaters and 'The Man'**

Beads of sweat clung cohesively to her forehead and there was a bright red flush to Helga's cheeks by the time she made it to the top of the 35th floor where the main offices of the publishing house were located. Once off the elevator she collapsed into the nearest lobby chair where she preceded to need life support simply to retain a rational thought. _First rational thought: you really need to get more exercise. _

The building was warm without being the stifling temperature of an overheated subway car and a hundred foreign bodies, so Helga sat catching her breath, absorbing the comfort of being out of the cold and into the peaceful warmth of this moment. _Mmmm_.

"Helga! Ohmygod! What the hell happened to you? You look like shit, like you ran all the way from Central Park!" The company receptionist had taken the coat and scarf Helga was grasping in her good hand while at the same time replacing them with a steaming cup of tea. Oh that felt wonderful, and Helga graced the girl with one of her rare smiles that only a privileged few had been witness to. The girl, Airabella, took this for face value and walked away feeling very pleased with herself.

When she had gained a considerable amount of composure, Helga stood up and made her way over to the receptionist counter; leaning casually on the rich black marble tops, she chatted a bit with Bella. Bella told Helga about all the newest and hopeful clients, while Helga dished all the dirt she knew about each one—Helga wasn't a journalist and a veteran in the literary world for nothing; she knew all about the book circles and how to investigate the enemy and the friend. Bella was in complete awe of Helga and secretly wished to be just like her—Helga knew this and reveled in it. Helga was just in the middle of her classic story about the vegetarian cookbook writer she had seen at the McDonalds in Times Square when the intercom buzzed.

"Bella could you please send 'Hella Va Pain in My Ass' in here as soon as she arrives?" Mr. Samson's voice held light humor heavily marbled with complete lack of personality, but he was a nice old man and really cared about Helga as long as she wasn't making him look bad. It was a great relationship they had: He didn't take any crap from her, and she, sure as hell, didn't take any from him either.

As Bella reached down to reply Helga held up her hand and pushed the response button instead.  
  


"Of course sir," she drawled in Bella's sickeningly sweet Southern accent, " and I'll make sure to send the crotchety old windbag in there as soon as he gets here as well...Oh wait, you're already here sir." Helga looked triumphantly at a horrified Bella who was, no doubt, going through the fifty thousand scenarios in which she was going to lose her job because of this. All her fears ebbed though when she heard the unmistakable ring of Mr. Samson's laughter flowing from the intercom as he replied, "Shit Hella-girl get your ass in here before I fire you!"

Helga gave a little giggle and leapt off the marble counter where she had been sitting, before she picked up her purse and, with a wave over her shoulder to Bella, strolled into Charlie Samson's office.  
  


Charlie's office was large and had, obviously, been spared no expenses as Helga took a seat on the black leather couch on the opposite side of the room facing his desk. _God, I hate leather furniture. Is there anything that's more tacky?_ Helga thought viciously as she smiled saccharinely at the old man now sitting behind the desk. Charlie just sat and stared Helga down for a minute or two, standard meeting procedure, before he cracked a wide smile and leaned back casually in his chair. "Hella, my dear, it really is great to see you. You look wonderful." _Oh Christ! He wants something_. 

"Don't patronize me Charlie, I look like shit. Now cut the crap and tell me what you want." There was no way Helga was going to play into his little game of banter for twenty or so minutes before he actually got to what he wanted, it was better if they got this over quickly so Helga could get back to her cozy apartment up town. 

Charlie smiled again as he stared at Helga's determined and set features before he stood up and walked around to the front of his desk where he opened a box of cigars and began perusing. She hated it when he did this: taking his sweet time simply because he knew that there was no more expedient way to piss Helga off. Finally after lighting up and taking a few chaste puffs he continued. "Hella, you certainly aren't one to beat around the bush," he waved his hand at an upcoming protest from her, "but I understand that you have things to do, as do I, so I won't play with you anymore, for today." He added that last bit simply for her reaction, which he was granted. "Hella, you are our number one writer in the company and also a business partner. As such, you know more about this company and the way it is run than anyone else, even me I think sometimes." Helga smiled and nodded in affirmation of these facts. She was practically vice-president, second only to Samson himself, which accounted for her larger-than-normal-writer salary. "Therefore, as such a paramount player in the company it would be best if you helped our newer staff get acclimated. Now I'm not talking about showing around the copy boy, so wipe that look off your face. I'm talking about a new writer and investor. He's bringing us a tidy sum of money and has got loads of potential when it comes to writing as well. I've just finished reading the first draft of his book and it's...well, it's really good Hella. The problem is it needs a bit of tweaking, he's a journalist, but needs to become a writer. Seeing as you're both, I know there is no one better for the job."

Helga sat dumbfounded for a minute, just staring at Charlie, trying to decide whether he was being completely serious. He was, _Damn it!_ "So you're saying that you want me to help this boy smooth out his "just the facts" edges and turn him into a writer? Charlie, I'm not a miracle worker."

"I know you're not and this isn't going to take a miracle, just time."  
  


"Time? I have things that I have to do Charlie. I'm almost done with my book, but it needs major revisions. Plus the Times is begging me to do at least five more consecutive columns to finish out my series on New York Life, and then they want me to start a whole new series. Time is something I just don't have."

"Listen Hella, this is something I need you to do. It _has_ to get done and there is no one else who can do it. Just help him for a couple of weeks. Please."  
  
_Oh fuck! He knows that I can't resist it when he breaks down and says 'please'. Damnit, Damnit, Damnit!_ "Fine!" she acquiesced finally. "But I'm not going to help him any more than that."  
  
"Great, all you need to do is help him with his writing and show him around the City a bit.  
  
"What?! I'm not a damn tour guide Charlie!"  
  


Charlie just smiled at her and knew that she would end up giving in by the end. He walked back behind his desk and snubbed the cigar in his ashtray before pushing the call button to Bella. Helga just sat stunned. She knew that she had lost the battle and was now stuck with some scrawny little wimp reporter who probably knew nothing about 'real' writing. _Great! I'll be stuck spending my days with Clark friggin Kent._ She was only vaguely aware that the office door was now opening and a tall man had stepped inside. It wasn't, however, until she heard his voice that she surfaced from her self-pitying. _That voice! Sounds just like...._ She looked up to see the same man that she had ran into on the street. _Oh crap!_

"So we meet again." he smiled at her.  
  
"Yes...um...well." Why the hell couldn't she think of anything to say? Charlie cut in for her.  
  
"Yes, as you can see, Ms. Pataki here is one of our most elegant writers."  
  


The man started at this, staring at Helga with a sudden intensity that she didn't think possible. He looked confused amazed, and frightened all at the same time. "You're not Helga G. Pataki?" he asked, voice quivering as he enunciated each and every syllable. Helga stared at him, suddenly struck again with that sense of familiarity she had experienced when she looked into his eyes on the street. She was hesitant to answer, although she didn't know why.

"Of course she is!" Charlie boomed, "She's that best damn writer this company has ever had, so let me introduce you: This is Helga, and Helga this is Arnold...what was your last name again?"

"Oh...it's just Arnold."  
  


Helga had suddenly lost every ounce of color in her face as she stared open-mouthed and gaping at the man in front of her. _Holy Fuck! It can't be._ But as she looked him over once more she saw it. He had taken off all the coats and scarves and the hat so Helga just now was getting a real look at him. He was tall, over six feet, with a lean, but muscular build. His skin was tan, too tan for him to have been living in New York all these years, and his hair was a sun-bleached blond color and fell a little haphazardly on his head (but in a way that made him look incredibly sexy). _Oh God, did I just think that!_ His head was a fairly normal shape now, but everything about him screamed Arnold, only in an adult way. Helga could barely find a way to respond. "Ar...Arn...Arnold?" she asked, willing and praying that the tears forming in her eyes weren't causing her voice to crack. She didn't want to cry, not in front of him. There was, however, no escaping it once he had crossed the room and pulled her into a tight hug. She cried freely on his shoulder while he held her. _His scent, it's just the same._ With one hand holding him to her he used the other hand to smooth her hair back while at the same time whispering into her ear, "I knew you looked familiar on the street." 

Helga laughed. She hadn't truly laughed in such a long time, but remembering her erratic behavior on the street certainly did the trick. She pulled away from him and grabbed his right hand in her own. She flipped it over and lightly traced the scar with the tip of her index finger. "You know when I saw this scar on the street I didn't connect it with you, but there was the flashbacks of that trip." Her voice had suddenly become very sad, as memories of that week surfaced afresh. Arnold simply stepped away from her—he hadn't forgotten either. 

  


* * *

  
~*Gosh, Helga has a dirty mouth! I wonder where she gets it from . Oh well, I hope you liked this chapter, it was really fun to write—especially with the whole Helga and Arnold reunion!! Thanx for Reading!! 


	3. A Writer for the Daytona Beach Times

  
~*Yay! Chapter 3. I really hope you like it! Please R&R!!  
  
  
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett.  
  


* * *

  
  
  
**Chapter 3  
A Writer for the Daytona Beach Times**  
  


Twenty minutes later, Helga found herself sitting nervously in one of Charlie's black leather chairs. She was looking determinedly at her fingers as if she were expecting the mysteries of the universe to be revealed in them at any moment. On the other chair across from her sat an equally uncomfortable Arnold—his hands too held the secrets of life.

They had been sitting there for...humph, God knows how long. Neither was willing to make the first move-Charlie had taken it upon himself to leave for lunch.  
  
"It's only 10:30!"  
  
"Yes, well, Hella dear, I'm feeling absolutely famished and this will give you and Arnold a chance to get to know one another better…oh wait, it seems that you've already done that." And with a vicious snicker and a wink at Helga, he left, shutting the door behind him with a resounding echo that had been the only sound in the room since.   
  
_This is stupid! I've known this boy—well, man I suppose—since I was three years old, certainly I can find something to say.  
  
'How about apologizing for you lunatic behavior today on the street?'  
  
'Oh shut up!'_  
  


"So, Arnold." He jerked his head suddenly and looked up at her with, what was that, fear? No, it couldn't be. "I wanted to apologize for acting like such a nutter on the street today. It's just that...well, I've never been really keen on people touching me."

Arnold looked at her sadly and nodded his head. "Yes, I remember that quite well, but I thought that you had gotten over that when we...well, when we were in high school."

"There must have been a slight regression!" she spat venomously at him. The look on his face was one of incomprehension, but _she_ knew that _he_ knew damn well what she was talking about.  
  
There was another long uncomfortable pause. Arnold gave this time.  
  
"So you're a writer, that's really amazing Helga." He congratulated himself silently on his choice of probably the only safe topic within their grasp at the moment. Helga was grateful for his tact as well.  
  


"Yeah," she picked up with as much faux enthusiasm as she could muster, "I've been writing books for the past four years or so, but I'm also a columnist for the Times." Arnold's face lit up at her mention of her career in journalism and when he spoke there was _real_ enthusiasm.

"The _New York_ Times?" he inquired incredulously.  
  


"No, the Daytona Beach Times football-head! Christ do you know of any other that operates out of New York City?" She spoke in the same tone she had use back in their school days, yet this time there was real playfulness in it, as opposed to the bitterness of the past. Arnold chuckled at the mention of his juvenile nickname, but what he said next was ladened with a deep sadness.

"Shit Helga! I haven't had anyone call me that since graduation day seven years ago. Do you remember?"  
  


_~*flashback*~_

  
  


Helga Pataki, eighteen-years old, sat in a deserted corner of the gym as she watched the throngs of parents and friends convening on the freshly waxed floors. It was a mess as each parent tried to locate their graduate amongst the other 170 students dressed just like him/her, and as all the friends tried to find each other for that last goodbye. Helga didn't have to worry about any of that crap. _Thank God!_

She had no friends. Phoebe had long since grown away from Helga (and had graduated 2 years early); all the other kids in the old 'neighborhood'—it had been a long time since they had talked in a friendly manner to her. In truth it had only been three weeks, not since the senior camping trip, but they had all held firm in their convictions to never speak to Helga again—they all thoroughly believed that Helga was evil incarnate and _he_ had done nothing to dispel any such rumor.

_I can't believe that they all took his side, that the second anything went wrong between us they automatically assumed it was my fault._

'Because while you were friends with them, you never treated them particularly well.'  
  


Helga dismissed the voice angrily and continued to brood in her own corner, away from the happy mass. Her parents weren't there either. Miriam had died two years ago—killed by a drunk driver, _there's irony_—and Big Bob had had a big conference in San Francisco to attend. _Either that or he wanted a quiet night alone with the secretary he's screwing this week._ Firmly believing the latter to be the truth of the two, Helga stood up tiredly and began to make her way along the shadows in the back towards the doors. A hand suddenly closed around her wrist—not forcefully, but in a comforting way. She didn't even have to turn around to know who it was.

"Please let go of my hand, I just want to leave this place." she pleaded quietly, her back still facing him. She couldn't look at him, she couldn't trust herself around him, and she didn't know which feeling might take control of her body if she did have the courage to look into his eyes. If it was anger, he would soon find himself doubled up on the floor in pain, but if it was the love that still absorbed her soul, then she knew that she would fall into his arms and never be able to let him let her go. He, however, wasn't going to be shaken off that easily.

"Helga, talk to me. After two years, you can't even talk to me?" She turned around finally, knowing that it would be both the anger and the love (or was it sadness?). His eyes were that same hypnotic blue-green, but this time there seemed to be more blue and...were those tears? _Damn him!_

"No, Arnold after _three weeks_ 'I can't even talk to you'" she mocked angrily. It was then that the tears threatening to spill in _her_ eyes finally did, and she answered back in a hushed whisper edged with the greatest sadness she had ever felt. "Not one time, not once, did you defend me against them [she gestured towards the 'gang' off in the distance]. Do you know how hard that was, watching them all celebrate the last three weeks of high school happily with you in the center and me off on the outside, nose pressed against the glass?" 

"Helga what are you talking about?" Arnold looked generally confused and Helga chuckled bitterly at him—he really was the densest person she had ever known.  
  


"You don't even know, do you?" she asked sadly. "They shut me out, stopped speaking to me completely. Oh wait no that's not true, they did talk to me occasionally, but that was only to call me a 'slut', 'bitch', or a 'fucking whore'!" Helga said the words like they were bleach candies, as fresh tears spilled down her pale cheeks. Sure Helga had been called names before, but it had always been in fun and joking—it hadn't carried the intense hatred that their words carried now. She wanted to tell him that it was all his fault; that they believed that she had been cheating on him; that Gerald, his best friend, had been the worst out of all of them—but she couldn't. When she looked up into his eyes and saw the utter disbelief lying in them, she didn't have the heart to continue to hurt him—_just let him believe that you made that up._

He didn't say anything for a really long time, just stood there, casting hurt glances from Helga to his group of friends back on the other side of the gym and then to Helga again. She looked so small and helpless—all he wanted to do was reach out and hold her, take her into his arms and never let her go. He never wanted anyone to hurt her, but they had. And _they_ had been his best friends. Anger surged through his body and facial features, Helga took it to be directed at her, but it was all towards that group. 

"Hel...Helga," he began timidly, "I had no idea, I swear. If I had, well...." He reached out his hand to touch Helga's cheek, but the second it made contact she jerked away so violently that he thought she might lose her balance and fall backwards. With a look that seriously reminded him of a caged animal, Helga looked up at him furiously. 

"Don't fucking touch me." She whispered in a voice that was dangerously low, "Don't ever come near me again. Go back to you little _friends_ football head, and just forget about me, because _all_ I want to do is forget about _you_!" With that she turned around and flew through the gym doors out into the darkest night Arnold had ever seen.

_~*end falshback*~_

  
  


"Listen Helga," Arnold began desperately. He reminded her of someone being dragged away to the electric chair who wanted to get all their regrets laid out before they were gone. _No, I don't want to deal with this. I can't deal with this, not now._ So she quickly cut him short.

"God I'm starving, let's go get lunch. You can tell me all about what you have been up to for the past seven years." Arnold begrudgingly agreed and within five minutes, the two were back out on the street walking in the general direction of 'who the hell knows'.  
  


~***~

  
  


At a little café near the harbor, Arnold found himself sitting across from a woman whom he never dreamed he would meet again. After that day in the gym Arnold had tried a million times to work up the courage to go and see her. Almost everyday that summer, he had driven by her street or house—his heart begging him to stop the car while his head kept his foot firmly on the gas pedal. 

He never got to wish her good luck when she went away to NYU and he never got to tell her how much he was going to miss her. September came and while she went to Manhattan he went to Stanford in California—never to meet again.

But here they were, him staring dumbly at her while she stirred her tea and stared out the window, lost in thoughts as broad as the blue sky above. He watched her movements; he had always loved to watch her move, ever since he had found out in their junior year that she took ballet. She was so graceful, even the way she craned her neck elegantly to look over a man now blocking the view. She was beautiful. Not in the way he remembered her from high school, now she was grown up...she had an adult beauty.

Helga suddenly turned her head to find Arnold staring at her. She furrowed her brow slightly before asking, "What? Is there something incredibly fascinating about me that you feel the need to stare at me as if I were some piece of abstract art that you cant quite figure out?" He laughed a little at the flush that had come over her cheeks at being stared at—it obviously didn't happen often and Arnold doubted that when it did, the men who had done the staring lived to tell the tale.

"It's just that, well, you look beautiful Helga." Now she was really blushing, if it was in anger or embarrassment Arnold couldn't tell.  
  
"Thank you," she replied warily, wondering if he was up to something.  
  


"God, Helga, I'm not up to something you know. I was just speculating on how mush you've grown up since high school. You were a pretty girl back then, but now you're a beautiful woman." She hated the way he could read her expressions so well, one of the side effects of being so close to someone for as long as they had been. Helga murmured another flushed 'thank you' before the food arrived and she found comfort in the fact that they didn't have to talk anymore. _God how am I going to get through three weeks of working with him?_

  


* * *

  
~*Yeah done with tags and it's _only_1:30 A.M.!...wait a minute.  
  
Well I apologize, I know Helga was a little melodramtic in the flash back, but she had changed alot since she opened up to Arnold. He hurt her and it's her graduation and she can cry if she wants to. (I know...that was lame, but oh well!)  
  
Thanks for Reading, Please Review! 


	4. Let's Talk About Sex

  
  
~* Yeah!! Chapter 4 is up!! I can't believe I have been so good about writing regularly (I can't usually even remember to update my journal but every few months). Well I hope you like it.   
  
~* Sorry this took so long to get out but I just got back from vacation. Thanx to all my reviewers, you were my first ever—it really made my day! To be honest I wasn't even sure whether I was going to continue this story, but you have renewed my faith, thanx!  
  
Hope you like this! Please R&R.  
  
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett.  
  


* * *

  
  
**Chapter 4  
Let's talk about Sex**  


Once lunch had ended Helga was more than ready to end their little "tète á tète" session. She was tired. Had she known that she would be seeing her first love—the boy she had pined over for more than ¾ of the first eighteen years of her life—for the first time in seven years _that day_, she would have not have stayed up nearly as late as she had the previous evening. All she wanted to do was hail the nearest cab and make the long ride back up the island—alone. Arnold, though, had different plans. 

As soon as they walked out of the café, he expressed a wish of seeing Battery Park and looking out into the harbor at the Statue of Liberty. Helga sighed loudly enough for him to know that he was really wearing on her nerves, before she agreed and led him along the wintered streets towards the nearing body of water. When they reached the sidewalk that ran along the bottom edge of the island and stared out over the harbor, only then did Helga realise how much she had missed him. Just being this close to him again was making her remember all of the fun they had in high school: the days spent stealing kisses in the hallways between classes, the afternoons of sports and dance practice (Arnold used to love to come down to the dance studio and watch Helga practice ballet, while Helga spent her free afternoons in the gym cheering on Arnold and Gerald as they trained for their next basketball game). Weekends, though, had always been Helga's favourite time—days of playing baseball with the gang or taking trips to the beach, or just sprawled out on Arnold's bedroom floor listening to his latest CD mix—the nights weren't that bad either. 

Helga sighed loudly, catching the present-day Arnold off guard, as she recalled the nights that they had spent simply lying next to each other staring up at the sky, or wrapped up in each other's arms, sleeping—they never actually 'slept' together. Standing on the edge of Manhattan now, Helga couldn't exactly remember why they hadn't. Surely Arnold, being a red-blooded eighteen-year-old, had wanted to, and Helga couldn't ever remember being opposed to the idea—for God's sake she had been enamored with him since she was three years old, why wouldn't she want to lose her virginity to the man of her dreams? She was puzzled. All she could remember is that they hadn't, Arnold had never really forced the subject, and when Helga left PS 128 High School she was still a virgin.

She turned now and looked at Arnold. His face was solemn as he stared out towards the statue jutting obscenely from the smooth surface of the water, the light of the setting sun reflecting, giving him a warm orange appearance. He didn't even seem to notice her staring at him, wondering whom he had ended up losing it to—he wouldn't have waited, she didn't. It had only been a month and a half after the break-up that Helga had slept with...what was his name...Trent? Trent had been an upperclassman that showed her around NYU, he was cute, but having sex with him so soon after her break-up with Arnold had been a mistake. She had regretted that one for years...she still did. 

"What are you thinking about?" he asked quietly, as if he were afraid that speaking too loud would cause her to take it the wrong way.   
  


It was weird, for some reason Helga didn't feel like playing games anymore, didn't feel like lying to _this_ person. "I was wondering why we never slept together in high school," she stated blankly. Arnold was shocked; he certainly hadn't expected her to be thinking about that.

"What led you to think about that?" he questioned just as honestly—it was good to be trying something new with Helga. She sighed heavily before turning her gaze back towards the golden, shimmering harbor as if trying to remember.  
  
"I don't know. I was just thinking about all the good times...the times we would spend together, and it suddenly hit me that we never...you know...were intimate. And for the life of me I couldn't remember why."   
  
Arnold now turned towards the harbor, also lost in memories.  
  
"You know Helga, I can't remember either. I guess I was always just so happy to be around you...you made me so happy, that it was never really an issue."  
  
"For two years?" Helga questioned skeptically.   
  


"Well, maybe I thought about it once or twice," he teased through a giant grin which caused Helga to blush furiously and smile too. "The truth is Helga," he continued more somberly, "I wasn't sure if you were ready. I was always that boy that you had had a crush on since...what was it seventh grade?" Helga nodded quickly, recalling the lie she had told him about the duration of her infatuation. "Our relationship was based more on a juvenile love than an adult one. You always seemed uncomfortable when we made out, so taking it any further would've been wrong. Even at eighteen, you didn't seem ready, I'm not sure I was either." The whole thing was full of some much honesty that Helga, when he finished, let out a heavy breath that she hadn't even known she'd been holding. She had to work up a lot of nerve to ask her next question.

"H...How old were you when you finally did?" she asked so softly that, at first, she wasn't sure if he had heard her. Arnold chuckled lightly.  
  


"I was a rarity among men. I didn't actually go all the way until my junior year of college, I was twenty-one." Helga suddenly felt a pang of guilt towards her own quick leap into the sack, and she silently pleaded that he would not repeat the question she had asked him. Luck wasn't with her. "How old were you?" he questioned in a whisper almost as soft as her own had been. She looked up into his eyes, they were full of worry, worry that she had done what she actually _had_ done, but she couldn't lie to him.

"I...I was eighteen, it happened about a month after graduation."  
  


"W-What?" he exclaimed more loudly than either he or Helga had anticipated. He quickly, though, got himself under control and turned forcefully to look at the pale girl before him. She didn't want to look into his eyes, but after he just looked down at her without saying anything for a full five minutes, she was forced to look up. His Caribbean-blue eyes had turned a stormy grey as a mixture of extreme hurt, anger, and sadness swirled around causing great waves of pain to invade Helga—she felt so ashamed.

"I'm, I'm sorry," she whispered softly as tears began to make their ways down her smooth cheek. "I was so young. You were right, I wasn't ready, but you have no idea what I felt like after the break-up and then the end of school."

"What?" he said angrily. "What do you mean I have no idea Helga, I was in our relationship too, it hurt me just as much. For Christ's sake, that girl I slept with—she was the first person I had dated in three years!"

"Oh, well let me just cry you a river!" she spat sarcastically. Arnold cringed at her familiar tone—he thought it had long since gone away. "But at least you had friends after 'we' were over, or have you forgotten? You had the support and help and sympathy of an entire group of friends that had dumped _me_! That day I talked to you in the gym at graduation, do you remember?"

"Yes, how could I forget," he answered softly as he stared sadly at Helga's tear-soaked face.  
  


"I'll bet you didn't know that you were the first person I had talked to in three weeks. Even when your 'friends' were making fun of me and calling me names, not once did I ever fight back, I didn't have the heart to, and even that day at graduation I didn't have the heart to tell you the true extent of their cruelties...I couldn't hurt you like that. Concern the feelings of others," she scoffed through sobs, "That was one thing that I couldn't help picking up from you after two years.

So when it came time for me to take my summer session at NYU, I left, without any tear-marked good-byes from anyone—not even my own father who just gave me cab fare into the city that morning before bustling off to the Cell-Phone and Beeper Emporium. There I was, all alone, without any friends, so when Trent paid me a little attention and told me I was beautiful, I was bound to be a little more than giving in return." The last part she said with such a level of self-disgust that Arnold felt sick. She really hated what she had done—she hated herself for doing it and for allowing it to happen. "I slept with Trent, but spent the entire time visualizing that it was you on top of me instead of him. All I wanted was you, so it was no surprise that Trent broke up with me pretty quickly after I screamed out another man's name when I...." Helga abruptly brought her hand to her mouth. She couldn't believe she had just told him that. 

Fresh tears sprung forth as she felt herself being pulled into his warm embrace.   
  


God it would be so easy to just let it all go. Just forget the last seven years and pretend like nothing had happened. But then it hit Helga what he was doing—he pitied her. Suddenly Helga felt a wave of nausea hit her as she struggled not to be sick on Arnold's chest—she couldn't stand being pitied. She pulled herself out of his arms and looked at him only briefly enough to see the pain in his eyes before she ran as fast as she could through Battery Park and into the first cab that stopped at her frantic waving. Helga really wasn't sure whether Arnold knew how to get back to his hotel, or even to the office for that matter, but to be perfectly honest, she didn't care. All she wanted to do was to get as far away from him as possible.

  


* * *

  
~*I know this chapter was a little melodramatic, but hey it's about time Helga showed some real emotion. Hope you liked it anyway!!! 


	5. Pity Party (complete with confetti)

~* Wow, Chapter 5 we're really moving along. Can't believe I got this far.   
  
~* I want to thank everyone for their…enthusiastic reviews—it really means a lot, thank you, thank you, thank you! But I'm having a problem, I've already written up to Chapter 7, but now I've received a little present from the Writer's Block Fairy—I would be welcome to any ideas as to what direction this story should go in.   
  
~*I must admit that at first I really didn't like the part with Helga, but it kinda grew on me after a while so I hope you enjoy it anyway.  
  
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett.  
I, incidentally, also don't own the 'Tiffany-blue' colour (I doubt, though, that Tiffany's would ever come up with a name so prosaic as that)—although I do consider it to be the most beautiful shade of blue on earth, he he he he! :)  
  


* * *

  
**Chapter 5  
Pity Party (Complete with confetti)**  
  


The next morning dawned far too bright and _far_ too early for Helga's liking. The sun's rays seemed to be filtered through a magnifying glass before they entered her eyes like an oncoming train—a condition more than likely induced by the severe hang-over she was experiencing.

"I swear to God I'll never drink again," she jumbled, wincing as her voice reverberated like the bells of Notre Dame through her aching head. "Need to die," she pleaded in a soft whisper before begrudgingly getting out of bed and heading for the shower. 

A warm shower, two cups of coffee, and three Aspirin later Helga was sitting quite contentedly at the white-washed round table in her breakfast nook, newspaper spread out haphazardly around her. God she was glad she didn't work at the Times on Saturdays; just the thought of having to deal with the Sunday Edition deadlines made her want to vomit—the damn thing had to weigh at least ten pounds. She skimmed the national stories briefly and read a few international headlines before she pushed one paper to the side only to pick up another—her copy of the Wall Street Journal. Her stocks were doing well—the day was looking promising. 

After an hour of just absorbing the warm sunlight streaming through the sheer curtained windows, Helga felt far more relaxed than she could imagine she should, especially after a day like yesterday. Oh God did she just want to forget the whole thing ever happened. Or did she?

Getting up slowly, Helga walked across the living room and down the wide hallway to her bedroom. Once in the closet Helga stopped and simply stared up at the top shelf, picking up the self-torturing habits of her youth. Did she dare? Did she have the courage to open those memories after all these years? _ Hell I came face to face with and ate lunch with those memories yesterday for Crimeny's sake! I can look at a few old photos and pieces of paper._ But as Helga extended her arm to the top shelf she found her hand to be shaking so much that she could barely get a firm grasp on the faded pink picture box. Finally, though, she pulled it down from its resting place where it had been a permanent fixture for the past three years, and brushed the thick layer of grey dust off the lid. 'Helga and Arnold' it read in red permanent marker that seemed to bleed from the pale pink skin of the box. God, why was this so damn hard? 

She sat down cross-legged on her hard-wood bedroom floor before removing the lid of the box, as if she wasn't sure her legs could sustain her if she had been standing. 

Inside was a jumble of papers and pictures. She pulled them out one by one. Picking them up as delicately as she would a piece of Faberge, she would look at the writing or picture for only a moment before placing it in a neat pile to her left. There were pictures of baseball games, Helga looking mean as a catcher, Arnold and Gerald slapping 'high-five' after winning the district championship their Junior year. There were pictures of the boarding house, of Arnold's old room, and of Helga sprawled out on Arnold's bed listening to a potable CD player—completely unaware that he had taken her picture. The hardest picture though was the one taken only a few weeks before their break-up. 

There they were. At the Senior Prom. Arnold looked absolutely gorgeous in his black tux as Helga leaned affectionately on his arm. Her dress was the lightest pink satin and was a strapless ball gown—the kind with the huge bell skirt that looked as if it had come right out of a more toned-down version of Gone With the Wind. Jesus! He looked so happy…both of them did. Helga stared down at the beaming couple for only a moment more before the tears overtook her and she threw it viciously across the room. Of course it didn't really go that far considering it was only paper and _that_ just pissed Helga off even further. She reached into the box and picked up all the papers with her two hands before hurling them into the air and all about the room. 

It was raining phrases before Helga's very own flooded eyes. She could catch short glimpses of the lines as they landed on the floor all around her. Some were in Arnold's thick black ink, while others were in Helga's slanted scrawl.

'**I missed you so much today…couldn't stop thinking about you**'  
  
'_You make me so happy_'  
  
'**I adore you**'  
  
'_I love you_'  
  
'**I love you too—forever**'  
  
"LIAR!" she screamed so loud that the walls around her seemed to rattle and tremble. But as she reached into the box to grab another handful of lies, she stopped. Gingerly she removed the remaining scraps and pulled out the small Tiffany-blue box from its hidden corner beneath the pile.   
  
She turned it over a couple of times in her hands listening to the slight jangle the piece inside made as it slid from one wall to another.  
  
She opened it.  
  


The rather large (by necklace standards—it's maybe really 1.5-2 inches big) sterling silver heart was still as shiny as it had been the day he gave it to her. The metal was cold at first against her hands, but after a while took on the same heat and felt almost a part of her. She opened the locket. There they were again. It was a picture of herself and Arnold, Phoebe had taken it while they were all in the park one Saturday afternoon. Arnold and Helga were both laughing in an attractive loving way as his arms encircled her waist from where he was standing behind her. Her hands were clasped over his. Helga stopped crying. This hurt too much to even cry.

"What happened to us, Arnold?" she asked, voice trembling, to the empty room around her. There was only silence. Helga was tired again and as she went to close the locket and shove it back in its dark tomb, she noticed an engraving that she had never remembered noticing before. It was on the inside opposite the picture and read:

_Helga: You are my heart and always will be. I will love you until the end of eternity, Arnold. _  
  


She slowly closed the little heart locket with a 'click' before fastening it around her neck where it hung loosely in the middle of her chest. In the most loving of gestures, she pressed her hand over it, closed her eyes, and smiled before standing up and beginning the laborious task of fixing the disaster she had caused. 

"Really must learn to control that temper of yours," she muttered to herself over and over again as she began the long work of picking up the pieces of her past.  
  


*~~~~~*

  
  


Arnold sat bolt upright in his bed, sweat poured down his temples and onto the nape of his neck. His breathing was labored as, for the first few moments he was awake, he tried to remember where the hell he was and what his nightmare had been about. There had been a woman, blond…Helga. She was falling and Arnold had tried to save her, but was to late, she fell. He couldn't save her.

Arnold threw himself backward against the pillows as he tried to regulate his own harried breathing—he knew where he was now.

His new apartment was nice, far nicer than his old one in California had been (although his living room in Cali had opened right onto the beach), but here he felt far more uncomfortable. He sat completely silent for a minute or two before he finally pinpointed the problem. Standing up and putting on a bathrobe, Arnold walked over to his bedroom window that overlooked Central Park West, there was the problem—there were about a hundred taxi cabs all crowded and beeping ten stories below him.

"I don't suppose there is ever a time when they aren't like that?" he asked musingly to the white walls and half-packed cardboard boxes that composed his bedroom décor. "Guess not," he laughed after a man below shouted a rather loud expletive at one of the other drivers. He closed the blinds and then walked out into the hallway that connected his living room to the bed and bath rooms to survey the previous night's work. 

_**last night**_

  
  


After walking around Lower Manhattan for an hour or two, he had finally come back to his apartment to find that Charlie had had all his boxes of stuff dropped off. Arnold felt like he needed a little down time, so he began unpacking some of the essentials: shampoo, pots, pans, &c. However, when he reached the box labeled 'Memories' he stopped and just looked at it. 

He debated for what must have been at least ten minutes as to whether or not, after today's little occurrences, he should really spend _more_ time swimming (or drowning) in memories of his times with her. Finally deciding that a little more probably wouldn't hurt too much, he tore through the caramel colored packing tape and pulled back the lids. 

Inside where pictures, hundreds and hundreds of pictures, all different shapes and sizes and styles. He looked through a couple of the smaller ones before removing a series of simply framed black and white 8x10's. He cleared a space on the floor and laid them out, taking a landscape look at the half a dozen pictures before him. There was a picture of the boarding house, standing warmly in a shaft of afternoon sunlight. There was a picture of Gerald, Sid, Stinky, Harold, Eugene, and himself all posing in their bathing suits by the community pool. There was a picture of their entire graduating class standing on bleachers in the auditorium, a few people were making cross-eyed faces while there was also no lack of 'bunny ears' on quite a few individuals. Arnold smiled as he traced his fingers lightly over the friends of his childhood, remembering all the good times they had experienced together. The smile was soon replaced by a look of grave sadness, though, as his eyes scanned towards the next picture.

There she was. Helga was sitting alone amongst the white sand dunes, starkly contrasted to the stormy ocean and sky looming in the background. She was wearing a flowy light colored skirt (it had been pink if he remembered correctly) with a simple white tank and black sweater. Her knees were hugged closely to her chest as she rested he head against them—her face was towards the camera. She was looking directly at him, a warm smile stretched across her face as her hair floated widely backwards. God he'd always loved this picture of her; when he had gotten the proofs back in high school, he'd immediately taken it back to the photo lab and had it made into it's current larger form. She looked so beautiful, practically ethereal, as though she was an angel that he had caught for a brief moment on film as she sat along the shore one afternoon. 

_**present**_

  
  
Arnold stood staring at the picture, along with the other ones, that now lined the walls of his hallway—he liked knowing that he could wake up each morning and glimpse heaven all over again.  
  


* * *

  
~*I know this chapter took a while, but I can never really get into the mood to convert these chapters from Word to HTML—thank Gods I took Web Design a couple of years ago. Well, that's all. Thanks again to all my reviewers—you guys rock!   
  


~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~


	6. Snowflakes that Stay Through the Noise a...

~*Oh Gods, I'm so sorry this took so long. The last few weeks have been so hectic: Middlemarch, mom's best friend visiting, trips to Blizzard Beach, trips to Busch Gardens (I rode a real rollercoaster, Yay for me!!), getting a call from my new roommate, packing, working—AHHHHHHHH! I'm moving 1,000 miles away in less than 27 days in order to start my first year of college...Oh Gods panic attack!!   
  
~* All right, I'm just going to warn you guys that the end of this chapter has major fluff-factor, so be alert! Constant Vigilance! OK, hope you enjoy. Please R&R.!!!  
  
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett and Nick. I also don't own Barnes and Noble or Earl Greyer tea (although you should really try it, it's wonderful!!)  
  
A/N: Title sung to the tune of "My Favourite Things" (something else I definitely don't own)  
  


* * *

  
**Chapter 6  
Snowflakes that Stay Through the Noise and Cab Crashes**  
  


Sunday had been good after Helga's slight morning breakdown. She had gone down to Saks and bought some new pairs of pants plus a beautiful white blouse. After that she went to Barnes and Noble, where she spent the remainder of her afternoon curled up in a chair sipping Earl Greyer tea and reading Pride and Prejudice for the hundredth time. 

By the time she stepped back onto the sidewalk, arms overloaded with books and clothes, the sun was already beginning to set behind the towering buildings in the distance. The cold wind was whipping viciously as Helga pulled her jacket a little closer to her thin frame; a vain attempt to block the biting cold of mid December. As she turned onto 5th Avenue, near Central Park South, the first snowflakes began to fall—meandering lazily through the air only coming to rest when they had landed sporadically on any thing stable enough to sustain them. Helga smiled as she watched the whole of 5th Avenue begin being slowly powdered in white—it was really starting to look like Christmas. 

Turning into her building, Helga took one last look at the air ladened with small pricks of white before she waved at the doorman.  
  
"Oh Miss Pataki," he called gently. Helga started, it was rare that she ever had a conversation with Lou, he usually just waved her in or out with a tip of his hat and a smile, no verbal exchange necessary.  
  
"Yes, Lou?"   
  
"Well, there was a man here visiting with Mr. Samson about a half hour ago. I let them both up since he has a key. Mr. Samson left about 20 minutes later, but the man, I believe, is still up there."  
  
"Was he a tall man with blond hair and a caramel tan?" Helga asked, a note of urgent panic in her voice. Lou studied her for a minute as if he was expecting her to explode before he attempted a look of pensiveness and then answered:  
  
"Why yes he was…are you all right Miss Pataki?"   
  
Helga hadn't even heard his question because she was already sprinting onto the nearest elevator, which had just opened up.  
  
The ride was tortuous, filled with Helga struggling with her bags of books so that she could check her appearance in a compact. She looked beautiful especially with the slight tinge of pink in her cold wind-whipped cheeks. Smiling nervously, she slowly walked to her door, turned the key in the lock, and gingerly pushed it open.  
  
Arnold was already crossing the room to help her with her bags by the time Helga had stepped over the threshold. He relieved her of all her heaviest bags before stepping aside so that she could lead the way to where she was going to put them.   
  


"You can just set them by the couch," she said softly as she looked into his hazy blue-green eyes. He smiled at her and then gently lowered the bags on the floor where Helga had put hers. Once she turned around she looked back towards him. He looked so elegant among the warm lighting and crème-coloured furniture of the apartment, almost like he belonged there. "Thanks," she whispered softly, "I hope that you haven't been waiting long. Had I known that I had company, I wouldn't have taken nearly so long." She began to remove some of the books from their respective bags and place them onto the already full built-in bookcases that lined the living room. 

Arnold shifted uncomfortably, suddenly imagining what it must be like to come home to find someone sitting in your apartment. "No, It's OK. I really shouldn't be hanging out in your apartment anyway, it's just that Charlie brought me over, said you were probably at some bookstore, and left me here before I could stop him." Helga turned around and gave him a skeptically quizzical look. "All right," he continued, "so maybe I did want to see you again, especially after yesterday." The last part was almost inaudible as his voice dropped at the mention of yesterday afternoon. Helga released a heavy breath and then walked over to where Arnold was standing by the couch. She sat down.

"Arnold, I…I don't want us to be like this—fighting all the time, I mean. So maybe, for now, we can try and forget about our harried past and just be…well, friends." Arnold's face lit up in the most beautifully heartbreaking expression Helga had ever seen. Heartbreaking because in that one moment she knew that she could never look at Arnold as _just_ a friend. He sat down next to her on the couch and looked earnestly into her eyes.

"For now, I think that would be a wonderful idea. But Helga, We do need to talk about it sooner or later," he said in all seriousness.  
  
"Later," she spoke as she walked back over to the bookshelves, "Later, Arnold."   
  
While Helga arranged her books Arnold stood up and began 'politely' snooping about her apartment. He perused her walls of books, delighting in the wide range of literature she had collected. There was everything from Shakespeare to Darwin's Origin of the Species, it was so wonderfully eclectic—so wonderfully Helga.  
  


He finally settled himself into her plush crème couch where he could watch her putting the books away, treating each one as if it were priceless. He loved watching her move. Just like in the restaurant the day previous, everything she did was graceful and elegant. Simple movements made his breath catch in his chest and his heart to skip a beat or two. After about ten minutes, to Arnold's great disappointment, Helga finished and turned towards him, once again catching him in the act of ogling her. 

"Really football head, if you are going to get into the habit of always looking at me again, this friendship isn't going to last very long," she stated as she shook her head in a disappointed school teacher manner. He laughed joyfully at her willingness to give their past a light-hearted treatment now that they had agreed not to discuss it in depth. Now that they could relax, he decided to play along.

"Well, Helga, I really don't know what you are referring to."  
  


She smiled and threw her hands up in an exasperatedly over-dramatic gesture before storming into the kitchen, Arnold hot on her heels. "You know what I'm talking about _Mr._ Arnold. You used to stare at me all through classes Junior and Senior year. It drove me crazy, I almost got a B in English for Gods sake" she raved in all the seriousness that the laughter in her voice couldn't hide. Arnold heard it though, and just smiled coyly at her—something that still, as it had all her life, made her weak in the knees.

"That's only because you were so beautiful, still are in fact. And Heaven forbid you should make a B in English class! Besides all you would have had to do was hit on Mr. Palmer, everyone in the whole school knew he had an intense crush on you," Arnold teased fiercely about their elderly old instructor. Helga shrieked loudly before throwing a dishtowel right into Arnold's face.   
  
For the first time in the three years Helga had lived in her apartment, the walls echoed with not tears, or angry yells, but laughter. Pure innocent laughter.  
  


~***~

  
  


Later that night found Arnold lounging comfortably of one side of Helga's couch while Helga sat on the other. He reached out to the coffee table where his glass of red wine was sitting and picked it up. He looked at the hypnotic crimson liquid as it swirled about the glass, and thought about everything and nothing at all. Helga made a slight scoffing noise before she burst into giggles. 

"I think that you're drunk Arnold, no one could look that interested in the swirlings of a glass of cheap burgundy unless they were seriously inebriated." The end had come out slightly slurred and was followed by a decisive hiccup—Helga blushed crimson and now Arnold was laughing.  
  


"Oh you're one to talk. I swear Helga, leave it to you to use big words even when you are trashed. I, however, am dot nrunk…oh shit," he sighed, realising that he was, but not as much as Helga. Helga just continued to laugh until she suddenly seized up, bringing her hand swiftly to her mouth and blanching face. Before she knew it, she was sprinting down the hallway towards the bathroom, Arnold close behind her.

When he finally caught up with her, Arnold found Helga on her knees clutching the rim of a toilet bowl in, what he supposed, was her bathroom. With what was probably the most enduring gesture of night, in Helga's swimming mind, Arnold walked over and sat beside Helga before pulling her hair out of her face and holding it back, in a high ponytail, behind her head. Helga was unable to mutter a word of thankfulness as a fresh wave of nausea hit her and she leaned back into the bowl. Arnold simply sat quietly behind her, holding up her hair in one hand, while he made long stroking gestures along the length of her spine with the other. He used this unspoken break to look around her bathroom, a place almost as revealing to her personal side as her bookshelves had been. 

It was done in a simple cream and pink décor with fluffy white bathmats and a pink shower curtain. There were various paintings by Monet and Van Gogh hanging infrequently about the walls. Above the pedestal sink was on open medicine shelf where there were various lotions, and make-up removers, and aspirin and…. Arnold's gaze stopped upon a couple of orange, clear-plastic bottles—prescription bottles. He strained his eyes so that he could read the names. Anti-depressants. He recongnised the names from a research piece he had done on them last year. 

Turning his gaze back on the pale young women before him and he suddenly felt his heart break with the knowledge that hit him like a cab crash—he was still in love with her. Even now when she was retching in a toilet, he felt a love so strong for her that he almost couldn't breathe from its consuming power. All he wanted to do was protect her, to hold her, to make her happy so that she would never be depressed again. In the far reaches of his mind, though, he knew that this could never be the case. Whatever Helga felt towards him was squelched long ago, and while her current feelings might run towards friendship they were certainly nothing remotely close to love. She had stopped loving him, and he was highly doubtful that she could ever feel that for him again.

Once Helga had finished Arnold handed her a wet washcloth which she used to wipe her face and mouth with before simply holding it her face. Arnold, however, took it from her and told her to lean into his arms. She looked at him skeptically (she was drunk, not stupid) before he gave her an equally menacing 'you-know-I'm-not-trying-to-pull-something-over-so-just-do-what-I'm-asking' look and she complied. Arnold leaned back against the wall while Helga leaned in gently against his shoulder. Carefully he placed the cool damp cloth against the back of her bare neck. She tensed and shuttered only slightly before relaxing her body once more and settling into a deep breathing pattern.

"Better?" Arnold asked in the softest of whispers into Helga's ear. She shuttered again, though he hadn't moved the cloth.  
  
"Mmm," she agreed softly while wrapping her arms around his torso and settling into him like a pillow. Arnold only scooted further down the wall until he was lying flat on the ground; Helga's lithe body, rising and falling rhythmically with his own breaths, on top of his.   
  


They laid like this for God knows how long before Helga's deep breathing became so slow that Arnold surmised that she had finally fallen asleep. As carefully as he could he slowly sat up and lifted Helga into his arms. She was so light that carrying her from the bathroom into her adjacent bedroom was nothing at all. He gently enfolded her into the soft sheets and down blankets of her bed before standing over her once more. 

In the soft light of the room she resembled the angel on the beach once again; her hair a shimmering gold and her skin like soft peaches. Only then did he notice the shining bit of silver protruding out from the collar of her shirt and register what it was. Reaching down slowly he pulled the silver heart locket out from her shirt, smile growing wider with each length revealed. She still had it—the locket he had given her. Being careful not to wake her, he kneeled down beside the bed and opened the little locket. There they were, he remembered that day so well. His eyes then scanned to the engraving next to it, but he didn't need to read it to remember what it said.

"Helga, you are my heart and always will be. I will love you until the end of eternity," he recited in an almost inaudible whisper that rung through the unusually quiet room. Suddenly, before he knew what he was doing, Arnold leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Helga's warm lips. She stirred only slightly before rolling over and whispering.  
  
"I will love you until the end of eternity Arnold."   
  
That was it, she had obviously been talking in her sleep, but Arnold took this phrase as the brightest beacon of hope that had ever existed and left her apartment.   
  
He walked down the powdered sidewalk of 5th Avenue, hearing none of the noises that can only resound in New York City at one o'clock in the morning. He heard only four words spoken in the most beautiful voice ever created, "I love you Arnold"  
  


* * *

  
~*Oh God...I promised myself..I wouldn't cry...Oh wait, no, it's OK, I was just overcome with pathetic melodramatics. Phew! Anywho, I swear I am working on Chapter 7, but the Presentable Writing Fairy is such a bitch. Oh well, thanx anyway. 


	7. An Introduction to the Past

—Sweet Merlin, this took forever and a day to post. Once again I chuck it all up to being really busy getting ready to leave for college (8 days!) Sorry anyway! :)   
  
—Second I jsut want to thank everyone who's reviewed so far...you guys really keep me going.  
Starry Nights: Oh my Gods, I have to honestly say that the first time I saw your review I was completely floored. I read your story 'Just a Thought'a while ago and thought it was absolutely amazing--I was really honored when I saw you had reviewed. Plus to say that _turned_ you into a sap...wow, I never expected that kind of reaction from that chapter. Thank You sooooo much!  
DropsofJupiter:Thanks a ton for the kind review. Paragraph breaks when characters' speak are rare in any kind of fanfiction, but I definitely understand where you're coming from (it drive's me nuts too).   
Everyone Else: You all seriously rock!!  
  
Disclaimer: I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise. Only the plot and the OC's are mine. Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett and Nick  
  


* * *

**Chapter 7  
An Introduction the the Past**  
  


The first thought Helga had as she awoke to the sickening blasts of her alarm clock was something vaguely similar to that which she had had the previous morning.

"I swear to God, I'll never drink again," she swore with even less resolve than yesterday as she made her way from the bed to her shower. Once in the bathroom she was directly assaulted by the recollections of the prior evening. "Ughhh,"she groaned aloud as a wave of memories washed over her. _ Arnold in her apartment…temporary truce…cheap burgundy…puking in the toilet while Arnold held her hair back_—"Oh God, very nice Helga," she scolded herself as the hot water washed down her aching body, "Wonderful way to show him how much you've matured—having him clean you off while you gracelessly vomit all over the place—just perfect!" She finished the rest of her shower in silence and self-loathing.

It wasn't, though, until she was toweling off her thick mass of blond hair that Helga was struck with her second revelation of the morning—how had she gotten into her bed? She remembered Arnold stroking her back and then…holding her while he placed a wet washcloth on the back of her neck. She looked down towards the floor and, sure enough, there was the now dried washcloth, but that didn't explain how she got from the floor of her bathroom to being tucked snuggly into bed. "Oh, Damnit!" she moaned, slapping her hand to her forehead as the realisation hit her and she turned harshly towards her image in the fogged up mirror. 

"So," she addressed herself rather acerbically, "not only did you practically throw up all over the guy, but then he had to haul you drunken ass into bed—you're a real winner Helga 'ol Girl, it's a damn wonder why all the guys aren't lining up for you." 

The last part she spoke with such bitterness that even _she_ couldn't escape the shudder her voice caused before she reached to the medicine shelf and quickly popped two pills, "Maybe now the world won't seem quite such a waste."  
  


~***~

  
  
In Charlie's office Downtown, Arnold sat, more than uncomfortably, in one of the large black leather chairs—God, he hated leather.   
  
Helga was late. Arnold was visibly worried, starting to regret leaving her alone last night.  
  


"Oh don't worry about Hella," piped Charlie, "She's probably just stuck in traffic Uptown—you don't know how time consuming those things can be." Arnold only smiled a bit politely before abruptly standing and walking towards the windows that looked out on the street below—where the hell was she?

After leaving her apartment the previous night…well, to be more exact, this morning, he had gone back to his place. Once inside the door he walked directly to the hall and flipped on the switch. Soft cream light flooded down on the black and white pictures lining the walls until it covered the one he had been searching for—hers. He sat on the floor, leaning against the opposite wall, just staring up at her picture for an hour or so before he finally stood up and took it down. As he crawled into bed a few minutes later and turned toward the nightstand he had been greeted by Helga's smiling face where he had propped up the photo against his lamp. To fall asleep next to an angel. He had no worries.

Now, though, was a completely different matter—he was worried to death that she had…well she could have done anything, couldn't she? His mind raced hysterically as he conjured up a thousand near fatal incidents that could cause her lateness or death—_Oh god, she could be lying dead right now!_

His breathing was quickly turning into hyperventilating gasps for breath. Charlie turned toward the young man who was now holding onto the windowsill for dear life.  
  
"Arnold! My Gods boy, are you all right?" he asked worriedly, running over to his side and ushering him into the nearest leather chair.   
  
"H…Hel…Helga" he finally managed through raged panting. Charlie simply huffed a sigh of relief and then sat down a little incensedly.  
  


"Christ boy, I already told you that she is probably just stuck in traffic. The girl, while being incredibly talented and smart, is never on time for anything. She still thinks that she's Super Woman—that no matter how little time is left to do something, that she will get it done. It's fucking craziness I tell you." 

Charlie's speech had calmed him a little—_very_ little, but he was almost reaching a semi state of contentedness when the old man spoke again.

"So what is your relationship with Hella anyway—it definitely seems as though you two are…close," he hinted with a slight wiggle of his eyebrow that gave him an almost cartoon-ish appearance. Arnold only sighed, wondering silently how much leave with 'their' story Helga would want him to take. He settled, finally, on trying to skirt the issue of their relationship with a simple answer.

"We went to school together—I've known her since we were four years old." Charlie didn't look satisfied with that explanation, and urged him to continue. _Shit, shit, shit._ "Well there really isn't much else to tell, we kinda lost touch after graduation [_which **is** partly true_] and Saturday was the first time I had seen her." 

Charlie was an old man and people, he supposed, had a tendency to assume that he was blind, deaf, and stupid. In reality he wasn't any of these things, in fact he was incredibly adept. So it comes at no wonder that he immediately saw straight though the story of the worried young man before him. He laughed silently at how Arnold probably was convinced he had snowed him over.

"Arnold," he said in a serious tone far from his usual comical one, "I'm not going to sit here and force you to tell me everything about your relationship with Helga—to be honest I don't have to hear it to know. I can see it in you eyes," he added after seeing Arnold's startled expression. "You were in love with each other," he stated a little more bluntly than usual, but this situation called for a little different approach than his usual circumspection. "And, if I've judged correctly there is something holding you both back." He sighed heavily, and suddenly Arnold thought he looked much older his 65 years. "Helga's a smart girl, like I said, but she has problems—serious ones, I can see it deep in her eyes in those rare moments that she actually lets her guard down. She's been hurt, badly and now she's afraid it seems—scared out of her senses—to ever make herself vulnerable again. Do you know what I mean?"

Arnold knew exactly what he meant, and suddenly couldn't help feeling responsible for every ounce of depression Helga was experiencing. He couldn't help but think back on that miserable day so many years ago when _both_ their lives had been forever altered.

_*~flashback~*_

  
  


For May, it was unusually warm in New York. The leaves were already dotted sporadically throughout the tree in the TriCounty Forest, swaying temporantly upon their branches as the P.S. 128 Senior class set up camp. The excitement in the air was almost tangible as everyone took in the realization that in three weeks high school would be over, they would be leaving to go out into the world. 

This was their last chance at real fun, their last chance to be children before the onset of adulthood took over.  
  
Helga Pataki came crawling on her hands and knees out of the girl's tent, a definite look of distaste on her face.  
  
"I don't know what you expected Rhonda, it's a _camping trip_, ergo, we are going to have to _camp_. Did you honestly think that they told us 'camping' on the pretext of going to the Waldorf?"  
  


"I don't know Helga! I just didn't think it was going to be this…dirty," exclaimed the next girl to exit the tent. Once up on her feet, Rhonda Lloyd-Wellington, olive-toned skin, deep brown eyes and short layered black hair, looked quite the antithesis of the petite blond girl standing next to her. Helga gave an exasperated sigh and then put her arm around Rhonda's shoulders.

"Look Princess, I don't know if your 'Mummy' and 'Daddy' explained this to you or not, but, these trees and grass and dirt, these things are called 'nature'," she enunciated with each word dripping her characteristic sarcasm as if she were speaking to a toddler. Satisfied with the loathsome look on Rhonda's face, Helga walked nonchalantly towards the boy's tent. 

With Helga safely out of hearing range, Rhonda turned fiercely towards her friend Nadine, who was now crawling out of the tent.

"I swear Nadine, Helga Pataki is the biggest bitch in all of New York. I honestly don't know what Arnold sees in her."  
  
"Yeah," agreed Nadine, "But it's like she's an entirely different person when she's around Arnold, he seems to make her not as…angry as she usually is."  
  


***

  
  


Helga didn't hear any of this conversation; thankfully, she was already outside of the boys tent where Gerald, Sid, Stinky, and Harold were all standing importantly around a small blaze from the fire pit.

"Look Helga, we done made a fire," Stinky proclaimed with all the self-importance of someone who had just discovered a cure for cancer. Helga rolled her eyes in a classic expression of worn nerves that everyone in their little group had become all too familiar with.

"Well, that's quite an accomplishment boys—you must feel like real mountain men now,"  
  
Stinky, missing every hint of mockery in her comment only stood a bit taller and puffed out his chest. _Honestly!_ "Look guys," she continued wearily, "I'm looking for Arnold, do you know where he is?"  
  
"Yeah," Harold piped up through a mouth full of ham sandwich, "I think he went off with Lila a couple of minutes ago. They were headed in the direction of the brook."   
  
All the other idiots missed it, but Gerald saw quite clearly the way Helga's entire face blanched at the mention of Arnold and Lila.  
  


Gerald and Arnold both had stayed the best of friends through all their lives, and like any good best friend Arnold told Gerald _almost_ everything. Gerald had been, in fact, the first person that Arnold had told when he and Helga had first got together, and needless to say she had been a tireless subject for discussion ever since. 

Arnold had regaled him with stories about her wit, and beauty, and charm among other things. But there had always been the nagging complaints about Helga's self-abusing and jealous nature. Not that Helga ever had intentionally hurt herself—it was just the way she always was putting herself down, never thinking she was good enough for him. Gerald supposed that that particular flaw had been the one that had given way to her intense jealousy. Every time Arnold even mentioned another girl, Helga…well Helga had been really weird about it. She didn't become enraged or anything (at least not yet), but she did turn incredibly despondent and melancholy. There had been times when she would just burst into tears in the middle of class or stop eating for days at a time—all until Arnold finally discovered and dispelled the ridiculous fears that she had. For some reason Helga just couldn't see what was blatantly obvious to at least Gerald: that Arnold was completely and hopelessly in love with her. 

Gerald really didn't have time for much more Helga observation though before she turned around and headed off in the exact direction that Arnold and Lila had gone too only minutes before.  
  


* * *

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who read this, and sorry it took me for-frickin-ever to post this. The next chapter's already written so it shoudln't be too long before I format and post it. :) 


	8. So, That's Where You Got That Scar

~~I know, I know—it's been forever since I have updated this story, but to be honest I really couldn't help it.  It is now the end of my second week of college and I haven't really had a moment to spare (to be perfectly honest I should be reading Sophocles, Machiavelli, and some textbooks on the English Reformation right now…oh well).    I hope that you guys still enjoy this chapter and the next one which will more than likely be the last.  Please Read and Review at the end, and thanks for all your patience!  :)

Disclaimer:  The usual—I don't own anything except a college loan debt and a whole lot of books.  All the characters you recognize belong to Mr. Bartlett and Nick; everything else (besides the wonderful and fabulous New York City) is mine!

* * *

**Chapter 8**

**So, That's Where You Got That Scar**

                Work really was highly overrated.  

                "Hello? Airabella, could you please tell Charlie that I'm not going to be able to come in for that conference today…yeah, I'm not feeling real well, probably the flu or something of that sort.  OK?  Bye."   

Helga hung up the phone and turned over to fold herself back into the layers of blankets on her bed.  Gods, she felt like shit—even the pills didn't seem to have the same effect that they once used to.  Although something like that could probably be chocked up to a built immunity to them she supposed…if there was such a thing.  Hell, she had been taking them for, what…seven years now, ever since the break-up.

"The break-up."  The whispered words hung statically in the air before her; forcing her to relieve those memories for what seemed like the hundredth time.

***

                The nervous tension that Harold's words had incited lay churning in the pit of her stomach as Helga slowly made her way towards the brook where they had been headed.  Funny, she had expected to be angrier than this; storming off in a jealous rage to mame Arnold and Lie-la.  It wasn't like that though, she felt more hurt and afraid than angry.              

                It had only been in the last few months that Helga had finally started to trust Arnold implicitly, she could finally see that he loved her every time she looked into his eyes.  She felt closer to him than she had ever felt about anyone and now, now to have him betray that trust with Lila didn't incense, it just made her incredibly sad.  Like life wasn't worth living without him and the only thing that she really had to be afraid of was what she would do when the pain became so intense that there was no escaping it.  Helga had never handled intense emotions well, not the death of her mother—_that had almost put her in the psycho ward—not anything.  This would be too much to live with._

                Nearing the brook Helga began to make out the distinct voices of the exact two people she was looking for.  She could her Lila's sickeningly sweet southern accent, as if she wasn't completely faking it—honestly, who lived in New York for eight years without being affected by the accents even the slightest?  She could barely hear Arnold—Lila must be talking a lot, but that was hardly unusual.  Lila's voice turned loud suddenly.

                "Oh Arnold, we can't deny these feelings any longer!"  And suddenly, there was a silence so terrifying that Helga had to act.

                Within a tenth of a second Helga was out of the bushes ready to kill Lila, but her dreams of vengeance glory soon drained like the color from her face when finally faced with the reality.  Arnold now held Lila at a distance strikingly different from that which Helga had seen upon first entering the scene.  

They'd been kissing.  

She'd actually caught him cheating—she couldn't believe it.  After the years of worrying and crying and carrying on when nothing was wrong, the pain she had felt then seemed miniscule to that which she was experiencing now.  She would have raged at them if it wasn't for the fact that she could barely breath through the sobs.

                "Helga!" Arnold cried as he released Lila's arms from his grasp and rushed to her, wrapping his arms around her.  His smell was almost sickeningly strong as it invaded her senses, making her want to vomit with the thought of his betrayal.  Thoughts of Lila experiencing that same smell, ravishing in it, breathing it in as her own—Gods, she couldn't breathe!

                Suddenly and with more force than he'd expected from her, Helga pulled herself away from his arms and stood trembling before him.

                "How could you?  After all the preaching and lecturing about trust and love, how could you do this, and with _her?" she questioned through sobs while pointing an acussing finger at the now smug-looking form of Lila standing only a few feet away.  Lila pretended to look offended before she strolled lazily over to Arnold and, placing a hand daintily upon his shoulder, spoke._

                "Maybe we should talk later Arnold."  She then turned to Helga.  "Bye!" she trilled lightly before tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder and strutting away, putting an all-too-obvious sway into her hips for Arnold's sake only.  Helga had to be physically restrained.

                "I want to kill her!" she screamed once Arnold had finally let her go, "and you."

                Arnold turned back to her warily, sizing her up before even venturing a reply.  "Helga, that wasn't what it looked like."  Suddenly the lack of anger was long forgotten.

                "Jesus, Arnold!! How fucking cliché can you be? 'It's not what it looks like,'" she mocked ruthlessly.  "And just exactly what was it.  Lila was having a fit of Asthma and you were giving her CPR?"  

                "Helga, don't be absurd.  Lila kissed _me, plain and simple."  It sounded plausible enough, but in Helga's mind plausibility held no weight—at least not as long as she was __this angry._

                "Well…you certainly didn't seem repulsed," she finished lamely.             

                Arnold threw up his hands in frustration before sitting down on a large flat stone by the stream and placing his head into his palms.  Silence stretched out for a minute or two before his voice finally answered wearily.  "I don't know what to do anymore Helga.  I've tried everything to gain you trust [Helga scoffed loudly], but there doesn't seem to be anything that I can do to convince you how much I care."  

                "Well kissing Lila certainly isn't going to help."  She had said that really before thinking.  _Damnit__!_

_                "I wasn't kissing her!" he screamed in frustration.  "Helga, I can't do this anymore."  The words struck like a slap across the face.  "I can't do this if you aren't going to trust me.  I can't live with constantly trying to reassure you all the time."  _

                Helga was stuck, she knew that what he was saying was true, but she couldn't trust him—she just couldn't.  She really couldn't place why there wasn't trust, there should have been—he was nothing but loyal—but a part of her was weary to let him get that close.  Everyone in her life had always let her down—she'd trusted Bob to be a father, she'd trusted Olga to allow her room to shine, and most of all she'd trusted Marian not to leave her.  They'd all broken that faith—no one ever could be trusted.

                "I know."  The whisper was practically inaudible and it took even Helga a second or two before she finally realized that the words had come from her own lips.  She knew that it was all too good to last.  

                "Listen Helga, I've meaning to tell you this, but…god, there just never seemed to be an appropriate time.  I know, I know, another cliché, but honestly, it can't be helped.  I got accepted to the University of California and…I'm going to go."  

                Helga tried desperately to steel herself from the pain that those words had caused, but the tears still spilled heedlessly down her cheeks.  So this really was the end.  He would go to California and she to Manhattan—that was that.

                "Well," she said with as much reserve as could be mustered, "I hope you will be very happy."  Arnold suddenly got up and crossed to her, sweeping her into a tight embrace before she'd had time to pull away.  Needing to be close to her as he never had before, his lips quickly found hers, pulling them both into a passionate spiral.  Helga tried to fight the creeping loss of control, but it was in vain as his tongue swirled forcefully inside her mouth—it was as if he was trying to memorize every last crevice of her.  Finally, she was struck by the realization that this was their last kiss—the grief became unbearable and she needed to get as far away from him as possible.  

                "N…No!" she cried brokenly, prying his arms off her and pushing him as hard as she could away.   

                Once again taken aback by Helga's strength, Arnold lost his balance on a nearby stone and went tumbling into the brook.  His right hand, which had been grasping back for any support it could find, caught on a sharp rock below the water's surface, making a deep diagonal gash across the length of his palm.  He cried in pain as Helga rushed to his side, scooping up his gushing hand in her own and screaming for help.

                An hour later, Helga was sitting hesitantly in a plastic hospital chair by Arnold's bed.  Helga hated hospitals, she remembered the way these over-sterilized chairs felt all too well form the hours she had sat in the Emergency room the night her mom had died.  She really didn't know why she was here, technically she wasn't his girlfriend anymore and the only reason she was allowed in was on the pretense that she was his sister.  Still, it was too soon to abandon him all together, and it wasn't like any break-up would affect the way she loved him and always would.

                "Oh God!" she whispered desperately, as the realization of how bad she'd screwed things up hit her.  Suddenly being here didn't feel right, but as she moved to leave without Arnold knowing, a cold hand clamped down on her wrist.  Arnold.

                "Helga," he whispered dryly, "What am I doing here?"               

                "You…you passed out—it was from the blood loss.  The gash went down to your wrist severing one of those main veins—we thought you were going to die."  All of it was said with as little emotion as possible—she couldn't allow him to see her like that ever again.  Arnold held tight to her wrist as she once again tried to leave the small room.

                "Helga, I don't want you to go," he said in a voice that she'd not heard him use since he'd pulled her from the depths of depression after the death.  Turning to look at him, she saw her own tear streaked face mirrored in his.  He was crying—_please, give me strength._

                Leaning down to his right hand, now stitched and bandaged, she placed a feather-light kiss into the palm.  "I have to."  It was all she managed to get out before breaking into a run from the hospital.  She hated hospitals.

***

                Arnold had known the second that Airabella had walked in the door that Helga wasn't coming to work that day.  Well, at least he knew that she was safe.  

                "She's says she's sick Charlie," the bouncing secretary announced.  Charlie gave a great huff before lightening up a cigar and taking a long puff on it.

                "Bullshit!  She's probably got a monstrous hangover and is currently sitting at home wallowing in her life's pities."  Charlie stopped suddenly, rubbing the bridge of his nose between his index finger and thumb.  "Arnold go over to her place and get her up.  If someone doesn't go over she'll lay in bed all day—not very conducive to well-written books.  Here," he said, throwing a small plastic card to him.  "Show this to the doorman and he'll let you up."  

                Arnold had obviously just been dismissed.  Once outside, he gathered his coat roughly around his body in a desperate attempt to block out the cold as he hailed a passing cab to take him uptown.__

* * *

~~OMG, one more chapter to go, I know it seems kinda hopeless but don't worry!!!  Hope you like that chapter and please review.


	9. Forgiven

—OMGs, I can't believe this is the final chapter.  I wanted to apologize once again for this taking an eternity plus forever to get up.  This is my second week as a First-Year at college, life has been a little more than hectic.  

***The ending is short and sweet, hope you like it.

Disclaimer:  I definitely don't own any of the characters that you recognise.  Only the plot and the OC's are mine.  Everything else belongs to Mr. Bartlett and Nick.

* * *

**Chapter 9**

**Forgiven**

                It had been no problem getting into the building with the card that Charlie had given him so, give or take a few minutes, it had only taken Arnold like fifteen minutes to go from the Financial District to the Upper East Side—he'd been incredibly lucky as far as the traffic was concerned.  All the time he'd been unable to think of anything except her.  What she was doing, what she was thinking.  For some strange and unexplicable reason, Arnold had the distinct sense that Helga's thoughts were probably running along the same train as his had earlier that day.  He couldn't explain how he knew, he just did.

                He reached her door at the end of the hall and suddenly lost all reasons why he should be there.  _Because Charlie told you to, continually ran through his mind, but somehow he didn't think that Helga would except that as a plausible enough reason.  She was a very private person and always had been—he seriously doubted that any of that had change over the last few years.  _

                Gathering what little reserve he had, Arnold steeled himself against her possible reactions and knocked firmly on the door.

                There was a faint groan from within and he could almost swear that he heard Helga's melodiously harsh voice belting a few expletives.  There was a shuffling of feet closer and closer until suddenly….  

                "Who is it?" came the voice inside, heavily laced with lethargy.  However, before he could answer, she obviously checked the peep hole, grunting something close to "Oh, you."  And then there was the sound of two or three locks unlocking—suddenly she was standing before him, more beautiful than he had ever seen her.  Although, he could be considered a little partial—she was a complete mess and still in her PJ's.

                "Arnold, what are you doing here?" she asked more that a little groggily, letting him enter the apartment and then shutting the door forcefully behind them.  He turned back to look at her again, taking in her disheveled hair, whit cotton pants and heavy grey knit sweater.  His breathe caught in his chest and for some reason that he would come to extol later, there didn't seem to be any more need for conversation.

                He crossed to her in a matter of seconds and wrapped her firmly into his embrace—not kissing her, just holding her to his body.  Her protests were short lived as he began rubbing his hand firmly up and down her back, soothing away any of the objections she could think of.  He was surprised by how much it felt the same.  How he could remember this feeling of holding her so well. It was like they had never parted.

                _No, that was a dangerous thought.  They were both very different people now.  But he still needed her.  Needed to be with her; needed to tell her how every day without her over the last seven years he had held her memory in his heart, had always thought of her and the way she made him feel complete._

                "Helga," he whispered softly bending down to place a kiss into her hair, "I need, you.  This morning…when you were late, I thought something horrible had happened."  The words were ragged and broken by deep gasps for breath as he tried not the be overcome by all the things that needed to be said between them, all the time that they had to make up for.  Her listened intently as she stifled a sob, trying to force her own words through the cries.  

                "I'm…fine, I'm…right here."  He heard the voice and succumbed—to everything.

"Helga, I want to try again.  I can't promise that things will be perfect, nobody can.  But I know that I can't stop thinking of you…I never have."  She pulled away then, looking at him searchingly through tear-reddened eyes.             

                "Are you sure?"  It was all the invitation he needed to capture her lips in his—bringing them both to the place that had only ever been occupied in dreams over the past seven years.

***

                Looking back on the days following Arnold coming over, Helga was never quite sure how they had gotten any work or Christmas shopping done at all.  It seemed incredibly cheesy and corny, but all they ever wanted to do was stay in bed together.  Sitting at the kitchen table now, sipping her morning tea, the mere mention of the previous nights (and days) made Helga blush furiously—something she was not disposed to doing often.  As she closed her eyes and smiled into her mug, the firm padding of feet could be heard entering the kitchen.  Opening her eyes, she turned towards the noise's source.

                Arnold was standing quite casually in her kitchen, clad only in a pair of pajama pants, pouring himself a cup of coffee.  She watched him through lowered lashes as he added crème and then sipped it gingerly, testing how hot it was before really drinking.  It was still amazing to her that he was here—she honestly didn't think that she'd ever get over the shock of seeing him…all the time.  

                "Morning," he greeted mildly once the coffee was disposed of.  She smiled at the habitualness of it all—it was like they had never been apart.  "What are you smiling about?"  The question was wry, as his lips curled as he asked it.

                "Nothing, just us."  The smile now stretched to his eyes, a sure sign of how awake he was now.  He didn't ask what she meant—he didn't have to, but just smiled brightly and walked to her.  Bending down he placed a warm kiss on her lips, the faintest hint of coffee and mint tickling her tongue.

                "I know," was all he whispered before kissing her again and then settling into the chair across from her.  "So," came his voice, now more alive than before, "What time are we picking them up at?"                

                Helga stared at the clock on the wall before turning back to the article she was reading in a swift move that spoke nothing but casualness.  "In about ten minutes."  She heard the choke and sputter from across the table and, being unable to contain the fits of giggles now escaping her lips, broke in laughter.  It was obvious that he had not noticed her to be fully dressed.  Shooting out of his chair, Arnold dashed around the apartment in a flurry of nerves as he searched desperately for pants and other articles that were precariously strewn about—forgotten last night in the heat of…there was that damn blush again!

                Twelve minutes later they were seated in the back of a hurling cab down 5th Avenue—the morning shockingly crisp and bright.  There was sparse traffic, a welcome diversion from the usual heavy throngs that lined the street day and night, as they made there way quickly towards 42nd Street.  Arnold was visibly fidgeting—not a extended side-effect of his nervous quest for missing pants.  Helga laced her fingers with his and, giving them a gentle squeeze, was all the relief he needed.  The taxi came to a hault and they were deposited onto the quiet sidewalk between Madison and Lexington.  Arnold stared dumbly at the building directly across from them while Helga just looked bemusedly at his awestricken face.

                "Oh for Heaven's sake!" she huffed in exasperated amusement, "Haven't you ever been to Grand Central before?"  Arnold shook his head a little before Helga dragged him across the street, slyly calling, "You haven't seen anything yet."

                But even Helga, after being here a thousand times before, couldn't contain the sheer wonder and emotion she felt every time she stepped on to the Main Concourse and caught sight of that great ceiling soaring above, making you feel like the most miniscule, yet wonderful, being ever created.  Arnold's reaction was twice as fun to watch.

                At 7:31, the people exiting Track 21, were moving swiftly to their destinations—only two of them came out looking for someone, not appearing to have a previous engagement.

                Phoebe and Gerald Johansen looked around tentively for their two best friends, and a smile that could have made even the expertly drawn constellations above fall pale in comparison lit up both their entire faces.  They walked swiftly towards the couple standing only a few feet away from them.  Phoebe threw her arms around Helga's neck, crying furiously already.

                "Oh, I just knew it!" she whispered sweetly into Helga's ear before letting go and turning to Arnold.  Gerald stood before Helga, hands shoved in his pockets in a tacit gesture of shame—shame, because she knew that he knew that she knew what kind of rumors he had spread when she and Arnold had broken up all those years ago.  Somehow though, that didn't seem to matter so much anymore, and Helga, making the first step towards her new life, took the step towards Gerald and folded him into a warm hug, whispering only so that he could hear.

                "Forgiven."

                Together the two couples and four friends exited Grand Central onto 42nd.  They opted for the morning walk up the daunting cavern of 5th Avenue instead of a impersonal cab ride.   Walking 5th Avenue, the city is yours to make what ever you will of it.  Helga and Arnold decided to make it their home.

* * *

~*I know, I know, kinda lame, but to be perfectly honest, I sort of liked it!  Well, I suppose this is Goodbye considering I haven't really found any Hey Arnold plot bunnies rummaging in our Dorm House's back yard.  If you like Harry Potter though, I have written a few uncompleted fics there (that I will finish hopefully very soon), and one very big one that—having finally gotten the right idea—I'm not going to start posting until it is complete.  I should warn you that they are all Herm/Draco or Herm/Sev, so if you don't like those, I don't recommend mine.  Bye Everyone!!!!!  Lots of love to all my reviewers—especially those that I left hanging forever!!!


End file.
